In the dark alley of a pub, the words “Please don’t” take hold of her heart and break the silence she seeks. Thinking herself beyond redemption, she tentatively grabs on to the slim thread of hope that unfolds inside of her.

Holding her secrets close, she can’t resist the comforting draw coming from The Skipper. The unconditional friendships it offers, the protective roof it provides, and the spark that its owner ignites in her—melting the frost off her heart, and slowly stripping away her resistance.

His life flows from one crisis to the next. Under the pressure of competition crowding him out of his family’s pub and the need to protect his children from the ruins of a bad marriage, he barely breathes. That is until a mane of strawberry-blonde hair and a set of big, pale blue eyes, shake him up.

He never expected the shadow of a woman he finds on the floor of his washroom to bring him the air―the balance and the light he’s been missing.

“I have more than I’d learned to be satisfied with for a long time. A bed, a shower every day, warm water—it’s more than enough. More than I deserve…” Her last words are so faint, I almost miss them. The meaning behind them seems clear. She feels a great amount of guilt over something. I haven’t missed the occasional flashes of blatant pain I see in her eyes, nor have I missed the wistful glances she sends in the kid’s direction. That coupled with her initial reaction when she met Dex first has me thinking she’s left something very precious behind.

For a moment she seems so forlorn, I react instinctively and pull her up from her seat and into my arms where she stiffens at the contact.

“Hush. It’s just a hug,” I whisper into her hair that barely touches my chin. Damn, she smells good, and with the angles softening on her body, she feels fucking fantastic in my arms. I feel her relax a little and tentatively her arms slip around my waist and her cheek presses against my chest. “When you need to unburden some of what you’ve been carrying around, I’m right here.” Without thinking I press a kiss on her head.

About the Author

Freya Barker craved reading about 'real' people, those who are perhaps less than perfect, but just as deserving of romance, hot monkey sex and some thrills and chills in their lives – So she decided to write about them. Always creative, from an early age on she danced and sang, doodled, created, cooked, baked, quilted and crafted. Her latest creative outlets were influenced by an ever-present love for reading. First through blogging, then cover art and design, and finally writing. Born and raised in the Netherlands, she packed her two toddlers, and eight suitcases filled with toys to move to Canada. No stranger to new beginnings, she thrives on them. With the kids grown and out in the world, Freya is at the ‘prime’ of her life. The body might be a bit ramshackle, but the spirit is high and as adventurous as ever. Something you may see reflected here and there in some of her heroines.... none of who will likely be wilting flowers.